


Younger Sister

by LynMars79



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood Spoilers, Friendship, Gen, Memory, hints of Yda/Papalymo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 06:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14764466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynMars79/pseuds/LynMars79
Summary: Thancred looks back over his relationships with the Hext sisters.





	Younger Sister

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be *part of* a chapter for my other Thancred fic, and somehow turned into its own story. I blame this broody bard-rogue.
> 
> Uses some scenes and dialogue from the end of Heavensward 3.5 "The Far Edge of Fate", and references spoilers up through Stormblood 4.1 "The Legend Returns".

  
Lyse was bringing everything back together after the Qalyana broodmother’s treachery. Thancred watched her deal with the delegates, her red skirts swishing as she walked among them, her smile bright and honest, blue eyes flashing with excitement and purpose.

“She’s grown much, these past moons,” Y’shtola said as she stood next to him.

Thancred made a small noise of acknowledgement; he had no concerns about Y’shtola misinterpreting him, not after all this time and all they had been through together.

“’Tis almost hard to believe she is the same child we once knew in Sharlayan.”

It was almost as if she could read his mind.

***

Yda laughed. “Lyse, c’mon! We have to meet the others for the festival.” She turned back to Thancred, the skirt of her Ala Mhigan folk dress twirling, and shook her head. “Sorry she’s being such trouble.”

“No trouble!” he answered with a grin for both sisters, bundling the decorations they had collected at Master Louisoix’s behest. “We have had a great time; haven’t we, Lyse?”

“We should do this all the time,” the child declared. “I can’t wait to see the decorations!”

“Well, let’s hurry along, then,” Yda said. “Papalymo promised to help, too, when we get back.”

“You mean you _told_ him he was helping,” Thancred said. He caught Lyse as she tried to dash past, swinging the little girl up onto his shoulders.

“Hey! Thancred, put me down!” she laughed.

Yda laughed, too. “Maaaybe,” she replied to Thancred. She took the decorations.

“Excellent. And if you really want to make up for this lovely time, you can owe me a dance.”

“Show the stuffier scholars what a couple of immigrants can do?” Yda poked her giggling younger sister, still dangling from Thancred’s shoulder.

“Why not? Between the two of us, I daresay we can make their faces redder than that dress.”

Yda laughed. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll save you a spot on my card.” The trio began their trek to the festival downtown.

That had been the last holiday they had had in the colony, before the exodus. It was also one of the last times he could clearly recall seeing the Hext sisters together, carefree and happy.

After that, he and Yda both had been focused on finishing their training and earning the rank of Archon. While they stayed in Eorzea with those other Circle members Louisoix hand-picked, Yda had sent Lyse with the rest of Sharlayan back to the motherland, for her safety and education.

***

Thancred knew Yda and Papalymo visited the girl as often as they feasibly could. Thancred was busy in Ul’dah, and had few reasons to travel to the northern isles, at least not at the same time as Yda. He did stop in to visit Lyse and regale her with stories at least once, on one of the rare occasions he returned to meet with Louisoix face to face.

“You are too big anymore for a shoulder carry, Lyse.”

“Ha! I bet you could if you wanted to.”

“Maybe if I _had_ to.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Thancred.”

“I am certain you will. Ah, such is my lot.”

“I do miss all of you. Moen’s still around for some fun, at least.”

“Keep up your studies, and you shall be joining us soon enough.”

“Ugh.”

“Now, now; it could be worse. You could have Urianger tutoring your entrance exams for the Studium.”

“Ugh! I’ll stick to hitting things, thanks. I need to be stronger if I’m going to fight alongside Yda.”

“And annoy Papalymo?”

“Well that goes without saying. Except, I guess, you just did.”

“According to some, I say many things that should not be said. ‘Tis a bard’s job. Now, I promised Yda I would treat you to your favorite pastries on her behalf. Shall we?”

“What, no insistence on lunch first?”

“Where ever did you get the idea that I am a responsible adult when it comes to spoiling my colleague’s younger sister and she is not around to stop me?”

“Good point. Let’s go.”

“That’s the spirit.”

***

The heat was wretched enough, and the humidity was only making it worse. Such was life in Thanalan, particularly near the few places with plenty of water. Like the canyons and valleys in and around Little Ala Mhigo. There was, at least, some relief in the shade amongst the rocks, wind blowing between the stacks and cooling as it danced along the spring that supplied the little refugee colony.

Thancred could not wait to get back to Ul’dah. The city would at least be marginally less miserable, and there was that lovely young noble’s daughter looking for a bit of rebellion…

“Are you paying _any_ attention?” Papalymo asked.

“Enough to know this is a risky idea,” Thancred replied. “But there is no talking you out of it, either. Do be careful.”

“Careful as we can be, given the circumstances,” Papalymo said.

“We— _I_ have to do this,” Yda said, pulling her mask back on. “We have to try.” She smiled. “Keep a light on for us.”

“I shall.”

He watched them go as the sunset turned the land gold; Yda tall and graceful, Papalymo small and energetic. If anyone could get those refugees out of Gyr Abania, it would be those two.

***

“You cannot be serious!” Thancred exclaimed.

“Twould seem that he is,” Y’shtola said, voice weary with grief.

“This is what Lyse needs—for now,” Papalymo said. He seemed so much smaller than usual, as if he were crumpling in on himself. “Someday, she will be ready to let go of the mask. It shall be our job to help her get to that point, and be there for her. For now, however, even Master Louisoix agrees that this is the proper course, though we may not like it.”

“So we just…pretend everything is fine. That we are not mourning her sister,” Thancred said.

“For all intents and purposes, she is Yda.”

Thancred eyed the thaumaturge. From the corner of his eye, he saw the end of Y’shtola’s tail start to flick.

“ _All_ intents and purposes?” Thancred asked. He tried to keep the growl out of his voice, but was not entirely successful.

Papalymo blinked, and then glowered back. “Lyse knows that Yda and I are good friends and colleagues who work well together. That is _all_. And it is _sufficient_.” He looked to be biting back more. Not like him--but then, none of them felt like themselves just now.

Y’shtola’s tail stopped flicking, and she nodded ever so slightly. Thancred forced himself to relax, and nodded as well.

Logically, he knew, Lyse had come of age; she was a woman grown, and a pretty one, at that. Yet, it was like knowing Minfilia was now grown and attractive: a statement of fact, perhaps, but to Thancred—and he was well-versed in the qualities of attractive young women—they were both still the little girls he had first met. Lyse was Yda’s younger sister, a child he used to sling over his shoulders as they worked and played in the now-abandoned city of learning. She always would be.

Looking at Papalymo’s face, Thancred realized that he was not the only one who felt that way.

“…My apologies,” he finally said, rubbing his eyes. “I did not mean…I just…” He paused, annoyed with himself. Words did not often fail him like this.

For a moment, Papalymo looked ready to shout. Then he let out a heavy sigh. “I know.”

They were silent for a long moment.

“This has been difficult on all of us,” Y’shtola finally said. “But now, we have Lyse to carry on, though if she wishes us to call her Yda, we shall. Until she is ready to take off the mask.”

Papalymo nodded curtly, and walked out of Y’shtola’s room, where they had sequestered themselves while Lyse—Yda—took care of other errands.

“It still feels wrong,” Thancred said. “And now that I know about Yda…gods…”

“We can but carry on,” Y’shtola replied. “Please, leave me; I have work to do.”

He frowned. “As do I, but surely it can wait—“

“No. It cannot. _I_ cannot,” Y’shtola replied. Red was already rimming her bright green eyes as she struggled to maintain her usual composure.

Thancred sighed and stood. “Very well, my lady. Should you need anything, you know how to find me.” He briefly pressed a hand on her shoulder.

She stiffened, and then relaxed and nodded, gifting him a small smile. “I know. Thank you, Thancred.”

He left her to grieve in her way, and went to find his own--which ended up involving a rather expensive bottle of liquor and a hellsguard lass who was very distracting.

Over time, it became natural to address the masked girl as Yda. One day, sometime in the years after the Calamity had torn so much from them and they grieved the loss of Louisoix and the Warriors of Light, Thancred realized he even, more often than not, _thought_ of her as Yda; that he was beginning to have trouble, really, recalling which sister had been involved in what events. He could not always tell now, where the line between Yda and Lyse was—or if such a line even existed.

He kept to himself how much it bothered him. After all, she was a respected member of the Scions now, not the little girl he used to swing onto his shoulders.

***

“Take her! Please, you have to take her!”

He could only hold Papalymo’s eyes for a moment.

Louisoix. Moenbryda. Minfilia. The Scions in the Waking Sands. The Students of Baldesion. How many already gone beyond Thal’s gates? And now, so soon after they had finally found him, Papalymo held Tupsimati while a primal formed from an ancient source of pain and rage.

They had already lost Yda once.

His eyes met Papalymo’s one last time. A thousand words said and unsaid passed between them in that span, as Thancred’s jaw clenched. He leapt over the airship rail.

He slung the girl over his shoulder.

“Wha—No! Damn it, Thancred! Put me down! Thancred!”

He landed hard back on the deck of the ship, dropping her. He took a painful half second to register how _defeated_ she looked, as Papalymo’s magic threw the Warrior of Light onto the deck next to them.

“Hilda! I think he means now!” Thancred shouted to their pilot. The ship lurched as she pulled away from Baelsar’s Wall with all speed, the wretchedly familiar light forming behind them.

The masked girl scrambled to her feet and raced to the rail to watch the light engulf the forming primal.

Thancred watched her; he didn’t need to see a brother die, not when it was his job to ensure the sister lived.

He stayed with her afterwards as well, sending the others back to the Rising Stones. She was not speaking to him, but that was all right. He could carry her anger and grief as easily as he had carried her.

***

She was no longer wearing Yda’s mask. The false archon marks Papalymo had conjured onto her neck were gone.

She was Lyse again, heeding Papalymo’s final words, stepping out from behind his little shadow, back into her own skin and name and away from the identity of her sister.

It was difficult to remember what Yda’s face looked like, now. Six years, Thancred realized. Six years since that mission to help refugees from her homeland. Six years since they had lost her.

It felt as sharp as the day they had learned the news. And now Papalymo…

Thancred and Y’shtola found themselves back at the Waking Sands at the same time on separate pretenses. Urianger met them in the Solar with books, food, and a couple of bottles sent to the Scions by Shamani Lomani.

The books were unopened, the food uneaten. The bottles, however, were emptied, as the three of them talked long into the night, the occasional laugh of remembered times mixing with, or covering for, the occasional sob.

Returning to the Rising Stones, Lyse was now wearing one of Tataru’s creations.

It was like seeing the last vestiges of his old friend vanish, as smoke on the wind.

***

His heart nearly stopped when he saw the red dress.

Thancred remembered it clearly, and now Lyse wore it—or one so like it that it may as well be the same—as he walked up to the other Scions. He might have said something to her then, but Alphinaud was speaking of Krile’s capture. The reason Thancred had come to the new Alliance camp on this side of the Castrum, to get help saving their colleague. Yes, focus on that.

For now.

Soon enough, they were making their way to the Saltery ruins with young Wiscar to obtain a key that would grant them secret access to the city. Thancred took a moment to fall in step with Lyse. He said nothing, simply stayed alongside her.

He felt her side-eye first. “What? You’ve got that look,” she said.

“Which look?”

She made an exasperated noise. “The look where you have something to say but you’re just not saying it, because you’re trying to be all broody and mysterious and interesting.”

He could not quite hold back a short snort of laughter. “A fair assessment, I suppose. Except where you say I am merely ‘trying’. I will have you know that plenty of women find me interesting.”

Lyse rolled her eyes. “Thancred…”

“Sorry, haven’t had much chance at banter recently, what with the infiltrating Imperial facilities and all.” He lapsed back into silence for a few steps, noting Alphinaud and Wiscar having their own quiet conversation ahead, the Warrior of Light beyond them. “Lovely dress.”

Lyse’s steps fumbled for half a second. “…Thanks. I…I’m not trying to…not again.”

He said nothing, letting her continue if needed.

After a moment, she took a breath and looked at him, determination glinting in her bright blue eyes. “I want her to be a part of this final push. I want to remember her…everyone, really, that we’ve lost along the way.” She looked toward the distant city walls. “And everyone we can still help.”

_“For those we have lost. For those we can yet save.”_

His heart ached as he remembered Minfilia’s words. He wondered if Lyse had done it on purpose, but she turned to him again, her face guileless as she smiled. “I wanted to do something for me, too, in a way.” Her expression faltered, the old hesitation and doubt edging back in. “Does…does that make sense?”

He smiled at her, and after a swift glance to be sure their companions were otherwise distracted, he tossed his arm around her shoulder for a hug and pressed a brief kiss to her temple. He let her go just as quickly. “Perfect sense, Lyse.”

She blinked in surprise, and then beamed, relieved. He was reminded of her childhood joy during a long ago holiday, when he had danced with Yda in her red dress.

The heartache eased a little, and he felt just a bit lighter in the warmth of a sister’s smile.

***

The summit successfully concluded. Thancred left the city and turned north along the Loch’s banks, avoiding the wildlife the Imperials had allowed to flourish in their years of decadent neglect. It was almost as hot as Thanalan, with the dusty foothills and glaring water reflecting the sunlight. He kept his eye on his destination, the cenotaph rising above the salt flat.

Lyse wore the dress well, he thought. It did not drudge up old heartaches anymore when he saw her in it; she had made it her own. He did not confuse her in his mind any longer with the friend they had lost so long ago, nor even really think of her now as “Yda’s younger sister.”

Lyse was simply Lyse.

He stood before the monument, looking it over and admiring the artistry, hardly faded despite the rigors of time.

“I thought I would find you here,” Y’shtola said as she finished climbing the stair.

“I found myself in a nostalgic mood,” he replied. “And it seems Lyse has things well in hand. As you said, she has grown.”

Y’shtola made a small affirmative sound in response. They stood together as the sun made its way to the western mountains, the land taking on a golden color.

“’Tis my understanding this is a memorial, for fallen mercenaries and soldiers who lie far from home,” Y’shtola said.

“Indeed.”

She stepped forward, setting two thin reeds of incense in one of the holders built into the monument, and then lighting them. As the smoke wafted into the air, he considered the risk, decided it was worth it, and reached out, catching her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Y’shtola returned the gesture with a light pressure of her own, and they exchanged small smiles. They said nothing else; there was no need to after all this time and all they had been through together.

In his mind’s eye, he saw them again; Yda tall and graceful, Papalymo small and energetic. He could suddenly recall her face—that of the girl she had been, back in Sharlayan, younger than Lyse was now.

 _‘She doesn’t need me to carry her anymore,’_ he told them. _‘But I will be here a little while longer, just in case. For the both of you. For Lyse.’_

The Yda of his memory smiled and turned toward the dusty road, Papalymo ever at her side.

The incense burned down, and night fell over the Loch. Y’shtola sighed. He tucked her arm in his to escort her back to the city. She teased him for his courtesy, which Thancred responded to with an innuendo-laden joke and a cheeky grin, making her laugh. Life moved forward, and so did they.

Thancred let go of the image of his friends walking into the golden evening light.


End file.
